


Rain

by remanth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks about what happened after Sherlock fell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

I went back to the hospital the day after the first time it rained. All the blood was washed away, not even the littlest bit left. They'd even taken down the yellow tape that had been put up. It's like it never even happened now. Multitudes of feet have walked over that stretch of sidewalk, lives have continued on. We buried you a week ago and Mrs. Hudson and I have pretty much cleaned out the flat. I can't believe how easy it was to remove someone from your life. Even someone who had become as intrinsic as you did. Hey, look at that. I've started using words I never did before I met you. It's been interesting. My mates look at me like I'm insane when I start sounding like you. Of course, not too much. That would never do or be possible.

Mrs. Hudson decided to donate your science equipment to the local university. The professors were excited to see everything that was in the boxes. They were impressed at how much you'd accumulated and how well you'd taken care of it all. They were very thankful and kept shaking my hand. I finally left when I grew tired of them exclaiming in delight over pieces of your life. I couldn't take it anymore. It felt ghoulish watching them handle all the precious equipment you used to use. Like they were picking over the corpse of your experiments. And yes, it might be sentimental but I think you might understand it this time.

I kept your books. I didn't want to let them go. They were a piece of you that I can keep and use. Your equipment is really useless to me, cold as that may sound. I don't feel the need to do experiments as you used to. I managed to read through a couple when I couldn't sleep at night. Now I know where you got some of your terms and phrases. I could almost hear you reading the books to me in my head. I plan on going through all your books eventually. I want to keep your voice with me and they help me do that.

And I know it's more sentiment but I wish I had gotten to kiss you one last time. I wish the last words I had said to you weren't so cold and horrible. I regret that terribly. You aren't a machine, you never have been. I'm so sorry for that and I hope you know I would take those words back if I could. I know now that you were just trying to send me away. You know I would have stopped you. I would have done anything to get you off that roof. Why couldn't you have told me, reached out to me for help? You hid so much but I thought I had learned to read you. What did I miss, Sherlock? Where did I go wrong? How could I have convinced you that you didn't need to go to these lengths? I still believe in you and I always will.

It's raining again. The streetlights have golden halos around them, little rainbows shining in between. It's strangely beautiful and reminds me of that case when you were looking at the stars. I think you might appreciate this beauty just as much. It's so quiet here in the flat without you. I hate to admit it but I've gotten used to hearing you play at all hours of the day and night. I don't know if you knew but when I had nightmares, I would listen to you playing and it soothed me back to sleep. And when I couldn't sleep, I would tiptoe to the bedroom door and stand in the frame, just watching you. You always moved a little bit when you played, swaying with the melody. It was mesmerizing and just reminded me again that I loved every gorgeous inch of you.

Greg keeps stopping by, probably to make sure I don't do something stupid. Not that I'm going to try committing suicide anyways but there are statistics. Apparently, those closest to someone who's committed suicide are at a higher chance of trying themselves. I don't think he quite understands yet that I still have work to do. I have to clear your name, convince everyone that Moriarty was really real. I'm not sure where to start and I don't want to go to Mycroft. This was all partially his fault, you know. When he had Moriarty, Mycroft told him stories about you. Apparently, they had a whole quid pro quo thing going. I was supposed to tell you Mycroft was sorry but I was furious with him. He handed Moriarty _everything_ he needed to destroy you and I will never forgive him for that. I have a feeling, though, that I'm going to need Mycroft at some point. He has far too much power for me to just ignore him. But I'm going to try it my way first. Once I can focus on it all.

I suppose I really have just one more thing to tell you. I know you'd scoff and call me an idiot for talking to you like this but it helps. I love you, Sherlock, and I miss you. But there's a small part of me that hates you. Part of me is so angry at you, you bloody bastard! How dare you leave like this, leave me here without you! You've become a part of me and I can't imagine life without you. I turn around here in the flat and I expect to see you sulking on the couch or sitting on a kitchen chair staring into your microscope. I want you to give me one last miracle, Sherlock. Amaze and fascinate me one more time. Come back to me. Stop being dead and just come home.


End file.
